I went through a few months of literary slump — never finding books that really engaged me, sometimes setting them aside and looking for something new, then later regretting it, wondering if my continued failure to find books that thoroughly caught my interest was vengeance exacted by abandoned novels, angry to have been started and never finished.
I had forgotten how all consuming a book could be.
I am currently reading The Black Jewels trilogy by Anne Bishop…and it is taking up all of my time. It is a big, long book (three books, in actuality) that I find moments to sneak in snippets of, that I linger over and draw out my lunch hour a bit closer to what it is by definition. My butt and fingertips go numb sitting on the porch at night reading in the cold, wanting to finish one more chapter before returning inside and retiring for the night. I resent the time demands that work, school assignments and the various engagements and obligations I have place upon me and I hover at the edge of neglecting them.
At the same time, I curse myself for hurrying through it–I long to draw it out and make it last, but I am desperate to know see the how finished patterns of the lives the tales follows will look at it’s completion, and I despair, sure that I will continue at this pace, and all too soon they will be revealed to me.
How I love a good book.
Now I wanna read it!!
It’s sci-fi/fantasy. You might not dig it.